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<title>the dead don't take sick days (but perhaps they should.) by wumbo_requiem</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783785">the dead don't take sick days (but perhaps they should.)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem'>wumbo_requiem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dethstaff Chronicles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metalocalypse (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dinner, Friendship, Gen, Past Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:29:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783785</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail and Dick talk about Charles, and scheme to make him do something fun. </p>
<p>Prompt fill for Kloktober day 2  - Favourite Character. (That is, of course, our CFO.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dethstaff Chronicles [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the dead don't take sick days (but perhaps they should.)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What was it like, when he was gone?" Abigail finds herself wondering aloud, finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. Dick's eyes dim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was, it was scary," he admits. "He's… unique. He's the only person who knew how to lead this whole-"  he gestures vaguely, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail's eyes stay focused on the red wine, rippling gently with every small movement. "And how did it make </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel?" She asks, feeling like a therapist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves right past. Dodges. "And when he got back I- we couldn't believe it. To an outsider, no offense, and in hindsight, it might seem </span>
  <em>
    <span>obvious</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was coming back. But you have to under</span>
  <em>
    <span>stand</span>
  </em>
  <span>- we thought he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hm." Abigail is thoughtful for a moment. "And some men, if they'd survived, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn</span>
  </em>
  <span>'t have come back. But, part of you had to have faith. Right?" She looks up at him, to see if what she's saying is registering. "Because he's Charles." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick nods. "We hoped and we prayed. But we knew that Charlie wasn't immortal. We were trying to be realistic. So we wouldn't get our feelings hurt when…"  he lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her best efforts, Abigail will never know how it felt to lose the manager. Having only met him </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fact of his return, she'd never experienced the grief the others had. She can tell his presumed death had sent shockwaves through not only the band, but the staff as well. Dick especially.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation is getting a little too dark. Worried she'd ruined dinner, she attempts to change the tone of the conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We need to take him out sometime," she says, putting on a smile. "Surprise him. He deserves it." It's an understatement- she knows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughs, grim aura dissipating.  "I've tried, babe, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried</span>
  </em>
  <span>! He's too busy saving the world to have a little fun on the weekend." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Doesn't he get days off?" Abigail really feels how new she is, having to ask. She is entitled to standard vacation days, luckily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"In theory, yes. But he doesn't usually take them. I think - and this is just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>theory</span>
  </em>
  <span>, okay? - I think that he feels like he's got to make up for all the days he's missed." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That makes Abigail fume. She tries to calm herself but she's prickled by it anyway. "He was-!"  She lowers her voice back down. "He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Technically. Nobody is going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>blame him</span>
  </em>
  <span> if he takes a few sick days!" Except maybe the band. They often seem to forget his importance, and the fact that he is a human person. Maybe it's just something they're playing at. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick shrugs. "I agree. But he doesn't see it that way. He's got to keep this whole thing running. And, as much as I wish he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> take a break, I think things would fall apart without him. Let's be real."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, you're right." Abigail sighs. Whatever frustrations she has about his tireless work ethic are not Offdensen's problem. "Still," she says, steering the conversation back to where she was going with it. "He needs to get out. For a couple hours, at least." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A waiter interrupts them with the check. Dick puts it on his card, trumping Abigail's offer to do so, and finishes the last of his drink. Abigail does the same, sipping delicately, savoring it before they have to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I just had an idea," Dick says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, if we can't get Charles </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the haus, who says we can't do something nice for him there?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmm, not a bad solution. Have anything particular in mind?" As Dick gets out of his chair, Abigail takes that as a signal to pick up her purse and do the same. She waits for him as he puts his jacket back on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I don't know, really. It's kind of hard to tell what he likes to do besides...work. Like-" they start walking toward the exit together.  "Does he like movies? Board games???"  Dick holds the door open for both of them and Abigail giggles. A gust of chilly night air hits her and she wishes she was in a suit and jacket, not this dress. It's the price of looking elegant at a nice restaurant, she guesses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He likes coffee," she says, picking up the pace as they head to the Dethlimo. An eager chauffeur Klokateer is waiting to drive them away. They get in the back, where the air is controlled warm.  She continues as the car starts to move, "and he likes music."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, but what does he like to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" Dick slumps forward in his seat, chin in hand, elbow propped up on his knee. His other hand waves around in the air as he talks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail thinks about this for a few seconds, and can't really come up with anything. She knows he likes to fence on occasion, and collect things, but those aren't really fun things they can all do together. "Maybe we should just come up with something </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> would like to do, and then pitch it to him." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick's eyes brighten. "Oh! Well in </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> caaase-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cuts him off with a stern look before he can suggest anything involving hardcore drugs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Al</span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he concedes, "movie night it is." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Woohoo! That sounds like fun." Abigail looks down at her bare knees, smiling at the mental image of the three of them hanging out together, doing something casual. Just for an hour or two. For two hours, they can pretend they're just … normal people again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He sure is somethin' isn't he?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail snaps out of her thoughts and looks at Dick. The lights passing by outside reflect on his face, tinting it unnatural colours. "Wuh- who, Charles?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah." Dick leans back as he explains. "He's complicated. Difficult, without being a pain in the ass." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abigail nods in agreement. That's very true. They all get on each others' nerves from time to time, but Charles isn't insufferable. She has too much respect for him to even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that. "He's someone who I strive to be like," she says. "But someone who I would never want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know what you mean sweetheart- it's a big undertaking. He has a bigger hold on this country's economy than the President!'</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pretty much." She shakes her head. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> he manages </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dethklok</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I'd say he's the bravest man in America." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Haha! Cheers to that." Although they have no drinks back here, they cup their hands as if they're holding glasses and 'clink'  them together-  one of their goofy new gags.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What kinds of movies do you think </span>
  <span>he'd watch?" She asks. "Like, assuming he watches any, just take a wild guess." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Some boring shit, that's for sure." Abigail breaks out into laughter before he can even continue. "L-like those art films that make no goddamn sense. Something like that." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe, maybe! </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> think he's secretly really into romance. Like, in movies." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Because it's funny to imagine the boss tearing up at Titanic." That's all the explanation she needs to give, really. Like so many other unknown factors of Charles, it's just something she's projected onto him. They both make harmless little assumptions about him all the time. As comfortable as the three of them are with one another, there are still things about Charles that seem mysterious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, I guess we'll have to let him pick something out and see for ourselves." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The car slows to a stop, and Abigail twists to look out the window. They're stopped in front of the colossal, draconic castle that is Mordhaus. She can't believe she's staying here, and she's already worked here for a few months. It's just surreal to live in a place this huge, removed from reality, and heavily guarded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two get out one after the other and hurry against the wind into the warmth of the stone foyer, where torches light the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, it has been a very nice evening, Dick. Thank you," Abigail days, a bit more professionalism seeping into her voice, should any of their bosses or subordinates hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nooo problem, kiddo." That's the third unwelcome nickname he's used for her tonight. She just tunes it out. "I'll take care of inviting you-know-who to the thing," he says vaguely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Great!"  She starts heading for the stairs, taking off her heels in preparation for the long hike up. She waves back at him one more time. "Goodnight, Dick." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Night, Abi. I'm gonna take a look at some stuff over in the stuuudio."</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When she makes it up to her floor, she's a little out of breath. Abigail isn't even in bad shape, those stairs are just monsters. Who designed this place? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears footsteps echoing down the hall and keeps an eye out. To her surprise, Charles comes into view. She stays in the shadows and watches him for a few slow steps. He looks exhausted, one hand running through his hair, the other falling limp at his side, briefcase attached to it by two fingers that are just barely holding on. God, he looks so sad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, uh, hi, Charles," she says with a little wave, stepping towards him as if she didn't notice him before. She wonders what he's doing up here- since his office is somewhere below- but doesn't think it wise to ask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He instantly straightens, gripping his briefcase more tightly and patting down his hair. It still looks a mess. Sort of endearing. There's no hiding how tired he is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah! Hi, Abigail. Didn't imagine I'd be, ah, running into you so late." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was about to say the same thing!"  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They've come to an awkward impasse. She sighs, deciding to be honest. "With all due respect, Offdensen, you look exhausted. I think you should take a break." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was just headed back to my office. I assure you, there's no need to worry," he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks back to the earlier conversation with Dick. No matter what state he's in, sick or healthy, tired or energized, dead or alive, Charles will not be pried away from his work. She sighs, realizing there's nothing she can do to stop him. Sometimes he really makes her worry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just… get some rest, alright?" She pats Charles on the arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To her surprise, he wraps his free one around her and draws her in, apparently mistaking her gesture for a hug. He seems to almost need her for support and she grows worried that she'll have to drag him back to his room, but he stands up straight again, releasing her. He adjusts his glasses. Despite his efforts, they're still crooked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah, goodness, I'm sorry. I-" he yawns, something she's never witnessed him do. All she can do is stare at this man she's never known before as he walks on by. "I-I'll see you tomorrow." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she's left alone in the hall, Abigail decides one thing: Charles is in </span>
  <em>
    <span>dire</span>
  </em>
  <span> need of a break, and she and Dick are going to make him take one before he falls over. </span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
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</p>
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